


Secrets in the Dark

by teacuphuman



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their school trip is waylaid by a blizzard, Arthur and Eames end up sharing a room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets in the Dark

Arthur closes his eyes and tries to remember how he got here. Here being sitting on the edge of a bed in a dingy motel room in the middle of nowhere, listening to the hottest guy in school whistle in the shower as he tries to get warm after a failed attempt at pushing their school bus out of a ditch.

 

Nope, he has no idea how this happened. One minute they were trekking through the knee-deep snow toward the motel sign, the next Eames was leading Arthur into their room with a hand on his shoulder.  _ Eames. Into their room. _

 

The shower shuts off and Arthur stands, unsure of where he should be. Should he sit in the chair? No, that might look like he was waiting to watch the other boy exit the bathroom. The bed seems just as sketchy, but those are his only options, so he slides across the polyester blanket to sit against the headboard. He fumbles his phone out of his pocket just as the door opens and he very carefully does not look up. 

 

“Whoo, that's better!” Eames scrubs at his hair with a towel, a second one slung low on his hips. He grins when he catches Arthur looking. Shit. 

 

“You wanna get in there? The pressure's shit, but the heat is welcome.”

 

Arthur clears his throat before answering, eye's back on his phone. “No, I'm fine.”

 

“You sure? It was bloody cold out there and you don't exactly have a lot of fat to keep you warm.”

 

Arthur tenses, used to being taunted for his scrawny frame. “I said I'm fine.”

 

“Hey, I didn't mean it like that,” Eames stops beside the bed. “I just wouldn't want you to catch hypothermia or something.”

 

“I'm not the one who landed in the snowbank.” Arthur points out. 

 

Eames laughs and the tension leaves Arthur's shoulders. He loves Eames’ laugh. It's deep and infectious, and he has to fight a smile. 

 

“That's true, although no one can say we didn't try, right?”

 

“I'm sure no one will believe that six teenaged boys and one sixty-year-old physics teacher couldn't push a twelve and a half ton school bus out of a ditch in a blizzard. Your reputation as a dashing hero is safe.”

 

“Dashing, huh?” Eames says as he throws himself onto the other twin bed. Arthur's eyes dart to the towel knotted at his waist, amazed that the movement didn't loosen it. 

 

“You're a little conceited, you know that?” Arthur says.

 

Eames props himself on his elbows, looking down his torso at Arthur. Black ink curls over his shoulder and arms. 

 

“No more than you, I suppose.”

 

Arthur balks. “Me? How am I conceited?” 

 

Well, let's see,” Eames sits up and starts counting off his fingers. “You're top of all your classes, even the AP ones, despite my attempts to bump you down, a fact that you are very smug about, proven by the very smug smile you get on your little smug face when results are posted. B, you drive around in that sweet little camaro, which you no doubt lovingly restored, because of course mechanics is another of your many skills. Third, you walk around the school, cold and distant, like you're above us mere mortals and you can't be bothered by our existence. Shall I continue?”

 

Arthus is speechless. Eames has it wrong, so very, very wrong, and the reality is more than Arthur can admit to the boy he's had a raging crush on since he first appeared two years ago, British, and beautiful, and completely unattainable. So he does what he does best. Arthur hides. 

 

“Fuck you.” He spits and turns his back, curling into himself, phone clutched to his chest. 

 

“Whoa, Arthur, I'm sorry.” The bed springs groan as Eames gets up. 

 

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, praying the other boy will leave him alone. He can feel Eames hovering at his back, but he must sense that touching Arthur is the wrong move, because he returns to sitting on the bed. 

 

“Jesus, I'm an ass. Arthur, I'm sorry. Would you believe I didn't mean any of that in a negative way?”

 

Arthur stays silent. Eames is hot, and popular, and used to getting his way, but Arthur is not one of his entourage. Eames thought Arthur was cold and distant before? He plans on being a fucking glacier now. 

 

“Okay, look, we got off to a rough start. I didn't want that. I didn't mean to antagonize you. You're just so put together,  _ all the time _ , and I wanted to see you a little ruffled. I asked Mr. Fitz to room us together so I could try and get to know you a little. See what makes you tick.”

 

“You asked him to put us together?” The words are out before Arthur can stop them, and he looks at Eames over his shoulder. 

 

The boy looks relieved that Arthur is talking again, despite the anger in his voice. 

 

“Yeah, sorry. I asked that we be paired in class, too, but he thought it would be an unfair advantage over the other students.”

 

“It would have been.” Arthur says. 

 

“I know.” Eames’ cheeks go a little red.

 

“You don't know me. You don't know anything about me, and what you think you know, is wrong.”

 

“Okay, then how are you, really.” Eames smiles.

 

“Do you seriously expect me to just open up after everything you said?” 

 

“You have a point. How about this, we take turns asking each other questions. Then we'll be even.”

 

Arthur frowns. “What if there's something I don't want to answer?”

 

“We each get three vetoes. How's that?”

 

Arthur thinks for a minute. This is a terrible idea, he's sure, but he finds himself charmed by the other boy's smile and apparent sincerity. It helps that Eames seems to be a little afraid of him. 

 

“Okay, who goes first?” He props himself back against the headboard, drawing his knees up.

 

“You can, if you like.”

 

Arthur figures he'll start small. “Why did you move here?”

 

“My parents got divorced and my mom wanted a change.” Eames answers easily. 

 

“That's a big change.”

 

“It was a big divorce.” Eames smiles ruefully. 

 

“Your turn.”

 

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

 

The question throws Arthur and he answers honestly before he can stop himself. “I don't know.”

 

Eames must like the answer because he smiles brightly.

 

“Um, do you like living here?”

 

“I like certain things,” he says, eyes on Arthur's face. “But I miss London a lot.”

 

“Yeah, London's amazing.” Arthur agrees.

 

“You've been?” Eames asks eagerly.

 

“Yeah, a few years back, with my dad. That was your question, by the way.” 

 

Eames wags his finger. “You play dirty, Arthur. I like it.”

 

“How many tattoos do you have?” Arthur blurts.

 

“Would you like to count them?” Eames grins wickedly.

 

“No,” Arthur tells him primly. “And that was your next question.”

 

Eames narrows his eyes. “I see how it is now. I have nine tattoos so far.”

 

“My turn again, then. What happened at the spring formal last year between you and Jordan Clements?”

 

“Veto.” Eames says immediately, turning his face away. 

 

Arthur watches him closely. His cheeks have gone red again, and he looks nervous.

 

“It's your turn.” Arthur says quietly.

 

“How was my assessment of you wrong?” Eames leans back and Arthur spots another swipe of ink disappearing beneath the towel.

 

“Are you going to put some clothes on?” He asks.

 

“Mine are all wet, and there's no robe at this fine establishment. And that was your next question. Now answer.”

 

Arthur thinks hard about vetoing the question, but his pride is itching to put Eames in his place. 

 

“The camaro was my dad's. He restored it, not me. He died three years ago and my mom gave it to me when I got my licence. I walk around school the way I do because I learned early on how horrible people like you can be, and I needed a way to protect myself. And I get top grades because I have nothing else to do but study.”

 

Eames stares at him so long it becomes awkward. Arthur is just about to snap at him when Eames speaks.

 

“I'm sorry, if I was ever horrible to you, I apologize.”

 

Arthur is startled. “Um, no, not you. Just, people like you, before you came here.”

 

“I'm still sorry.”

 

Arthur is intensely uncomfortable with Eames looking at him so softly. 

 

“I don't need your pity.”

 

“And you don't have it. I'm simply sorry that your life has been difficult.”

 

“Okay,” Arthur draws out the word. “It's my turn, then. Why did you ask for me as your roommate?”

 

Eames’ smile settles back into one of teasing. “Why do you think?”

 

“You can't answer a question with a question.” Arthur protests.

 

“We didn't agree to that.” Eames shrugs.

 

“You're an ass.”

 

“Is that your answer?”

 

“It may as well be, I have no idea.”

 

Eames is grinning again, like keeping Arthur off guard amuses him. “I already told you. I want to get to know you better.”

 

“But why?”

 

Eames drags himself over to Arthur’s bed, keeping a bit of space between them. Arthur pulls his knees closer into his chest.

 

“Because I think you’re lovely.”

 

Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. The truth is that he’s spent a lot of hours wishing someone, anyone, would say that to him. To have it be Eames is too good to be true. 

 

“I think you should leave me alone now.” He whispers, tearing his gaze from Eames soft smile.

 

“Arthur-”

 

“I don’t want to play anymore.” 

 

“Arthur, please-”

 

“I said stop!” Arthur’s phone cracks in his fist. Shock steals over Eames’ face and he retreats quickly back to his own bed.

 

Arthur shuffles under the covers, fully clothed, doing his best to fight off the panic attack that is bearing down on him. Eames is cruel and Arthur has no idea how he knew to say all the things Arthur wants to hear, but he knows how things like this go. The minute he lets down his guard, Eames will take advantage. He’ll talk Arthur into doing something stupid, something incriminating, and then it will be all over school and Arthur will have to rebuild his walls all over again.

 

Eames turns off the light before crawling into his own bed, his breaths fast and uneven, like he wants to say something, but can’t bring himself to begin. They lay in silence while Arthur tries to will himself into sleep. Eames tosses and turns, beating his pillow into submission. Even facing away, Arthur can feel the other boy’s gaze on his back.

 

“It would appear,” Eames starts, voice quiet. “That I have a special talent for pissing you off.”

 

Arthur pretends to sleep, hoping Eames will leave it alone.

 

“I truly didn’t mean to offend you. I don’t know all the reasons why you seem to push people away, but I can imagine they are well earned. You did admit that I’ve never treated you poorly, so I’m not sure why you assume I will, but I think that’s unfair.”

 

Another minute of silence passes before Eames heaves a sigh and flops onto his back.

 

“Jordan Clements and I got caught behind the gym at the spring formal. We were wanking each other off.”

 

Arthur stops breathing.

 

“Principal Peters threw a fit and accused me of leading Jordan astray with my  _ European Agenda _ , whatever the fuck that means. Jordan got scared when Peters threatened to call our parents and said, well, he said a lot of terrible things. So I punched him.”

 

Arthur lets out the breath he’s been holding, not quite believing that Eames is telling him all of this. 

 

“I wanted to room with you because I think you’re lovely. I wasn’t lying. I noticed you right away, you know. My first day, I asked around about you. Everyone said you were a prissy little shit with a stick up your ass. I thought, hey, that’s right up my alley! Then I found out how smart you are and I thought if I could just knock you off your pedestal, maybe you’d take notice of me. So here I am, having wheedled my way into sharing a room with you, only to piss you off so much that you refuse to speak to me. Well done, Eames. Fantastic.”

 

Arthur smiles into his pillow. He knows he has to extend an olive branch or risk Eames being too hurt and embarrassed to ever speak to him again. He trusts these secrets the boy has shared in the dark, the honesty in his voice.

 

“Jordan Clements is a dick.” Arthur offers.

 

Eames huffs out a laugh. “He really is. Which is surprising, because he has so little to work with.”

 

“Maybe he’s over compensating.”

 

“I think you might be right.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says. “I’m not used to people saying things like that about me.”

 

“I see that now. I may have come on too strong.”

 

Arthur steals himself to ask the question he really needs the answer to. “What do you want from me?”

 

Eames is silent for a moment, their breathing the only sound in the room. When he rolls over to face him, Arthur follows suit, just able to make out Eames’ face in the light from the window.

 

“I want to be your friend.”

 

“Is that all?” 

 

“No. But I’ll take that if that’s all you can give me.” Arthur can’t be sure, but he thinks Eames is blushing again.

 

“What do you want from me?” He repeats.

 

“I want to hold you hand. Maybe kiss you before class. And after class. And in you car.”

 

“I knew this was all about the car.”

 

“What can I say? It’s a really nice car.”

 

Arthur is smiling and Eames’ grin shines back at him through the dark.

 

“I can’t promise I’ll always be nice to you,” Arthur warns. “I’m a suspicious person by nature.”

 

“I can see that now. I will do my best to make you smile. I don’t think you so that enough. I want to make you smile, Arthur.” Eames says quietly, voice rasping.

 

“I think I’d like you to try.” 

 

Eames extends his hand across the space between them and Arthur laces their fingers together. Eames’s thumb strokes over his, sending goosebumps up his arm. Arthur tugs gently on the other boy’s hand. 

 

“You can come over here, if you want.”

 

Eames lifts his head. “Yeah?” 

 

“Yeah. You know, for sleep. It was cold out there, and you’re barely dressed. I’d hate for you to catch hypothermia or something.” Arthur smiles.

 

Eames laughs and throws the covers back, keeping hold of Arthur’s hand as he slides into bed with him. They lay face to face, knees pressed together in the small bed. It’s strange, Arthur thinks, being this close to someone. Feeling their breath across his face, and not minding. It’s something he thinks he maybe could get used to, if it’s going to be Eames.

 

“This is more than I’d hoped for.” Eames admits, brushing his nose against Arthur’s.

 

Arthur leans closer. “Me too.” 


End file.
